I Started A Joke
by Wings Of Sanguine
Summary: The Avengers are given an assignment to protect one of Gotham's most notorious villains from her equally insane ex-boyfriend. While in their care, however, she reveals that she may be closer to the edge than they thought. DC appearances based on the Suicide Squad Movie. (DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN AVENGERS, BATMAN OR CHARACTERS)
1. Chapter 1

"Mrs. Waller, while I do appreciate that you have bought me an incredibly fancy dinner, I don't think we'll be capable of doing anything," Steve Rogers sighed as he glanced down at his plate. A large sirloin steak sat amongst figs and lemon potatoes, juices red and enticing as he cautiously cut into it, taking a bite. The woman sitting across from him glared as he chewed, ignoring her own plate of ribs and mashed potatoes. Her white suit gleamed under the light of the restaurants bulbs, and it made it hard for Steve to look at her directly.

"Mr. Rogers, I don't believe you have a choice," Amanda Waller stated coldly, "as I specifically asked Fury to appoint your team for the job."

Steve gulped. Of course she would have gone right to Fury. Fury always opted for the tough ones.

"Is that so?" Steve gulped down his meal, "Well, I guess we have no choice, as you said. What's the-"

"Gotham City, a woman named Dr. Harleen Quinzel." Amanda cut him off, reaching down for a purse that sat on the floor next to her chair. Rummaging around, she pulled out a manilla folder, sliding a few pictures over the table to him. The images were glossy, and the Captain had to glare to get a good look. In total there were two photos. One, a young woman's mugshot, a wide smile on her face as she stared at the camera. Her brown eyes were glazed over, and her platinum blond hair was tied into twin pigtails, one dip dyed pink, the other dip-dyed blue. Her skin had the look of makeup, with its streaky paper white surface, and small black lines created tiny tattoos of hearts on her cheek.

"This her?" he asked.

"She was caught after a sloppy diamond heist," Amanda explained, taking a sip of her glass of wine. "Not that bad, really." Steve nodded, staring at the way her painted red lips curled into a malicious grin, almost taunting the superhero as he looked at it.

"The job we have for your team is to find her and protect her," Amanda explained calmly, "no matter what."

Steve raised an eyebrow at her, "I'm sorry?"

Her knife screeched against the china plate like nails on a chalkboard as she ignored his question. Steve checked his ears for excess wax- had he heard her correctly? He glanced down at the photo of the woman again. It was obviously a mugshot- _A creepy one at that_ , Steve thought as he went to pick up the other image.

This one was of a man, who was equally as painted white. His short hair was dyed green, and his lips colored the same dark, menacing red, if not a bit more scarlet. He sported the same maniacal smile as his female counterpart, with silver grills capping all of his teeth. Tattoos littered the surface of his skin, some in neat cursive, others in a brash graffiti style.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"You've probably heard of him," the woman said, placing her glass down with a soft clink. "The Joker."

Steve had to stare at the photo again. Sure, he had heard of the Joker, but this guy wasn't exactly what he had pictured. The man in the photo didn't look like an insane sociopath, he looked like a punk who had taken tattoos and piercings too far. His face was gaunt, but he could see well defined muscles in his body (at least the shoulders, considering a mugshot was taken from the neck up), and he thought he could see just the tops of the man's ribcage, although the light in the restaurant was too dim to be sure. Chatter seemed to be everywhere now that he and Amanda had stopped speaking, and the woman sitting across from him was giving him an expectant look, her eyes boring into him like daggers.

"I have heard of him, yes," Steve finally answered. "What does he have to do with her?"

"Everything, Mr. Rogers," was Amanda Waller's answer as she took another bite of her meal. His steak, however, had begun to taste like dirt, slowly grinding against his incisors until he could no longer eat it, as if it were rubber and he a band. He waited for the piece of meat in his mouth to snap in half, but t remained chewy, refusing to break.

"Well, I guess we have no choice then, huh?" Steve said, although the statement was made at least a few times within the first few minutes of the conversation. He couldn't help it. It felt like an anchor, an excuse for everything the Avengers had done. The Battle of New York. The Battle of Sokovia. Heck, even their own separate battles when the team was not part of the Avengers.

And now this. Finding and protecting this woman from one of the most dangerous men on the planet.

"We did establish that, thank you," Amanda Waller said, not amused at the smirk he tried playing off. "As you may know, Harleen Quinzel was… _involved_ with this man for a very long time." Steve nodded- he had always read the news, although he needed some help navigating finding articles on the internet. Out of all the new technology, the internet was the one he had difficulty mastering.

That, and using email.

"You said that she was his psychiatrist at that hospital they put him in," Steve reminded her.

"Yes, well, she had taken a liking to him, as some would say," Amanda sighed heavily, straightening her spine as she sat up in her high-backed chair. Coughing into her fist, she continued, "After that, she helped him escape, and he took Dr. Quinzel with him."

Steve cast his eyes down at the photo of the young woman. He had heard of stories such as these for a while- a lot of the time involving veterans of war, after they had let their delusions take over. Was the Joker a war veteran? He looked like one, with the tattoos, but Steve had never seen a veteran so young. And they surely didn't end up with silver capped grills in their mouth r green hair.

"And what happened next? They turn to a life f crime together? Bonnie and Clyde?" Steve attempted to joke, but it fell flat, and he took a sip of his own drink. The wine was bitter, he decided, burning as it slid down his throat.

"They would have put Bonnie and Clyde to shame, in all honesty," Amanda said curtly, furrowing her brows, "They slandered and killed and stole everywhere they went. It wasn't long before they were both put in a high-security penitentiary."

"And?"

"We had to separate them because…" Amanda's face became contorted with pain as she trailed off, trying to find the words, "Joker was gettin' a little hands-on with D. Quinzel."

Steve felt his eyes twitch. Things like that… that was just disgusting, even for someone in a high-security prison.

"She at first thought it was just his way of showing he loved her," Amanda tapped Harleens picture with a perfectly manicured nail, "of course, after time passed and he frequented her cell more often than usual, it was becoming obvious that this was a dangerous situation."

"That's a dangerous situation for anyone right off the bat," Steve retorted, "I mean, even if you're in prison, violation is violation." Amanda smiled at him, her lips tight.

"Always a gentleman," she teased.

"That's not being a gentleman, Mrs. Waller, it's called being a decent human being."

"Well, being a decent human being is not up the Joker's alley," Amanda said, "after a few months, she complained to one of her guards. We tried moving her to a different facility the next day, but when we reached her cell to collect her, she was gone."

The moment of silence gave him the obvious answer. He didn't even need to ask who took her. He learned later that Mrs. Waller had decided to set up a sort of group- similar to the Avengers, was what she had said, for those who she thought would be able to turn themselves around.

It proved harder than she thought.

Katana, a woman who was the group's swordsman, skewered herself with her own weapon, found lying in her cell in a pool of crimson, babbling that she didn't want to deal with anything anymore. She was ready to go.

Captain Boomerang had disappeared to his native Australia, never to bee seen or heard from again.

Killer Croc (who seemed like a rather ugly version of the Hulk) had disappeared into the sewers, helping (ironically) diminish the rat population in New York.

The Enchantress had driven herself to death with her own magic, her powers eating away at her body until she simply disappeared.

And then they had found the rest of them out on a patrol- Rick Flag, Deadshot, and the one and only Dr. Harleen Quinzel. But as Amanda Waller told the tale, Steve felt his blood running cold. Something was off- they were villains, he knew, but from what he had heard, they had good intentions in the beginning.

"We found them running around Arkham Asylum, those three," Amanda cut through his thoughts like a knife through bread, "terrorizing the guards and letting patients roam free, whether they were dangerous or not. As part of the program, they were given weapons, however, we had devices implante in each weapon in case they used them on themselves."

Steve was confused, "But you just said Katana-"

"That sword was one handed down through her family," Amanda interuppted, "We thought she could handle it. But the rest chose weapons- and Harleen had played it safe, picking ot use a baseball bat."

That made Steve laugh. What could she do with a toy?

Apparently a lot. Amanda went on to explain that while the group had run amok, she had started to get followed by some of the former patients, and used the baseball bat in self-defense. Some of them did manage to grab hold of her, and the results were not pretty, the ordeal ending with blood and brains splattered on the wall, skulls smashed into unrecognizable shapes. Steve shuddered as she said they had found her screaming ehr head off, swinging the bat against the dead bodies until they would no longer move, only to switch her target to the brick wall, smearing the crimson spilling from the patients.

"What was she saying, if I may ask?" Steve asked, his voice now a whisper as he tried to imagine the scenario. It was too terrifying ot even think about.

"She was saying something along the lines of 'Mr. J. doesn't like when you touch his things'."

Steve shook his head. His chair scraped the floor as he went to get up, offering the woman a small smile as he slipped on his coat.

"So is that all we have to do? Save her from this Joker guy?" Steve asked. Amanda nodded, seeming to have finished the meal herself. From the looks of it, telling such a story was not something she enjoyed, her face having paled. It was a sad story, yes, and from the pained look in her eyes, it was an absolute horror to retell.

"You need to make sure he doesn't get his hands on her at all costs," Amanda Waller ordered harshly, her tone clipped, on the verge of crying, almost.

Steve nodded, "And where can we find her?"

"When we made that team, we took them and put them in the hole," was the reply, ominous in its own right. From the beginning of this dinner, Steve thought Amanda Waller was intimidating, from her perfectly pressed white dress suit to the way she chewed on her food, squaring her shoulders to take up more space.

Steve assumed she meant Arkham Asylum, and asked, "And where can we find this hole?" A smirk played on her lips, turning into a deep chuckle as she shook her head.

"Let's just say I threw away the hole."


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha and Clint had only been at the Asylum for an hour. They had seen enough carnage to last a lifetime, but the damage done here was far beyond that of a regular day-to-day battle alongside the Avengers. Sure, cities got destroyed- like when Loki bought an army from space to take over New York, or when Ultron decided to try and take over the world, and the country of Sokovia got destroyed in the process- an _entire country_.

This, however…. this was beyond the two assassins. How a single person managed to do this was utterly….

 _Amazing_.

Desolate buildings stood tall in the night sky, some with crumbling bricks and smashed windows. As the two spies ran across the grounds, doing their best to avoid the bodies of former patients and broken glass of streetlamp lights, to the bits of flesh stuck to the fence- a severed arm Clint pointed out made Natasha want to hurl, the limb having been snared on the barbed wire as if it were a chicken on a spit. Blood splashed every available surface, some if dried into a deep brown, most of it still a bright red and dripping in the cracks.

"Are you sure this is only one person?" Clint asked as Natasha silently emptied her stomach, hair hanging in her face as she wretched. The beige began to blend with the red, creating a whirlpool of vile smells, hitting her nose as if she had just walked into a perfume store.

"That's what Fury said," Natasha answered, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve, "our job is to retain her and keep her safe."

"Wait, it's a woman we're after?" Clint was surprised, his eyebrows wiggling up his forehead. Natasha nodded. Glass crunched under her boots as she dragged Clint round a corner. Shadows danced on the sidewalks, blending until two shapes became one, tangled together under the lamplights.

"We gotta be careful though," Natasha warned him, "the files said that she was pretty unstable."

Gulping, he followed Natasha as she crouched against a wall, peering to look onto the next rolling lawn, the dead grass that turned from yellow to gray, stained with crimson from the litter of men and women alike. Obviously there was a very slim chance of getting out of here alive, if a single person was able to cause this much trouble. From what he had learned, the rest of this group- this "Suicide Squad," as they were called- had either disappeared or killed themselves in an attempt at actual sanity.

This one, however, was still on the run.

"So what does she look like?" Clint asked as Natasha slouched forward, ready to dart into the open space that was the yard of the asylum. Clint thought the place needed cleaning up.

Natash, on the other hand, didn't care about the area. Often she had fought in places like this- possibly dirtier, but she couldn't remember. Sometimes they were fighting in moving vehicles. Most of the time it was something like this, prowling an area until the target was found.

That didn't take long, as she jumped upon hearing the thwack of wood against brick, a steady beat lasting about five minutes. She exchanged a glance with Clint, who nodded as a voice wavered on the airwaves.

"Mr-!"

 _THWACK!_

"-J-!"

"-doesn't-!"

 _THWACK!_

"-like-!"

 _THWACK!_

"-when you-!"  
 _THWACK_

" _-touch-!_ "

 _THWACK!_

" _-his-!"_

 _THWACK!_

" _-things!"_

A clatter signaled the weapon had fallen to the ground, and the two agents jumped out from behind the wall to see a young woman standing a good yard away, pacing angrily as she shook her head. Twin pigtails swung in her face, and Natasha could hear the click of her shoes echo loudly on the pavement. The grass was matted underfoot as Natasha and Clint approached slowly, Natasha's hand already on the holster of her gun.

There she was. She was taller than Natasha expected (granted, she was wearing heels, but still), with skin so pale it practically glowed in the moonlight. Her hair had the same effect, a platinum blonde with one pigtail dyed blue, the other pink. Her Daisy Duke shorts had the same look, with the same color scheme, and she was wearing a tattered red and white jersey, some sort of black writing emblazoned across the chest.

"What the hell?" Clint muttered, "This the one we're looking for?"

Seemed like it. Natasha took a step, wincing as the heel of her boot scraped the pavement, becoming a deer in the headlights when she turned to face the redhead, lips slit into a wild grin, so big it looked like it would crack her head in two.

"Heh….heh…" she giggled, "Puddin,?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow, looking to Clint before slowly shaking her head.

"Puddin', is that you?" the woman asked, her voice full of hope, small and meek.

"Uh...no?" Clint dared to reply, and the woman's face immediately fell. Sluggishly, she bent over to pick up the baseball bat, the resounding bang of wood against brick starting up once more.

"Clint, who's 'Puddin''?" Natasha asked.

"Hell if I know!"

The woman suddenly screamed, swinging her baseball bat with so much force the wood snapped in half, splintering as it broke against the wall. Clnt had an arrow knocked in his bow, stretching the string until he was able to fire.

"Wait, Clint!" Natasha ordered, then pressing the bluetooth piece in her ear, "Fury, we have a situation."

The microphone crackled as a familiar voice barked at her, "Just get her detained and come back to HQ, Agent Romanoff." And with that the earpiece was silent. Natasha knew she shouldn't have expected anything more from Fury. He didn't like getting his hands dirty if he didn't have to.

"Any luck?" Clint asked. Natash shook her head, saying, "Nah. We're on our own for this one."

"Yah know, Puddin' said he'd come back," the woman said out of the blue, turning to face Natasha and Clint, "He wanted to take me out."

Natasha wasn't sure of what to do- should she answer her? Frankly, she didn't want to. It would most likely be a one-sided conversation, and they didn't have the time. The metallic scent of blood tickled her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose, trying to ward it off. Clint had lowered his arrow, but his finger was still on the string.

"My Puddin' loves me, yah know?" the woman cackled.

"Y-yeah, I'm sure he did…" Natasha's skin crawled at her tone of voice. It was shaky. Why wsa she scared though? She had dealt with a lot worse on recon missions. What was so different about this one?" The woman cocked her head at Natasha, gripping the two broken pieces tightly in her hands, heels clicking as she slowly took a step.

"Did he send you to come get me?"

"Um… yeah, yeah, he did," Clint piped up, and Natasha was thankful for the chance to breath, not realizing she had been holding it in. The woman smiled.

"Liar."

"Huh?"

"L-liar, liar…." the woman began singing, twirling slowly in place. Her pigtails swung like the blades of a helicopter. "Puddin' is in France. He told me so himself…."

"Well, we're going back to France," Clint said, calmly, curtly.

"Is that so?" the woman teased, "Well, you'll have to catch me first!"

And then they were on the run, the woman a good couple feet in front of them, cackling as she rounded a corner, imitating the sounds of a gun. Natasha was already out of breath by the time they saw her racing across the dirtied lawn, kicking the bodies strewn about, using her broken bat like double swords, stabbing and jabbing anything she could find.

"Liar! Liar!"

"Can I shoot her yet, 'Tasha?" Clint groaned, gesturing to his arrow as she smacked her bat against the barbed wire fence.

"No. Fury said Waller wanted her alive," Natasha condoned.

"Should we at least call for back up?"

"Maybe later."

They watched as the woman began jumping about, twisting her hands in her hair as if she were to tear it out. Her stockings, Natasha could see, were torn, the lamplight illuminating multiple bruises and cuts. Diamonds were drawn on her thighs, along with something written in messy cursive on her left leg.

Why this Waller person wanted her alive was beyond Natasha. According to Fury's report she wasn't in her right mind.

And that was obvious, with how she began singing, spinning and leaping around, a ballerina putting on a show at the Metropolitan. But orders were orders, and Natasha was trained to follow them. The woman had stopped moving, head crooked back to stare up at the black night sky.

"Fireworks!" she cried, pumping her fist in the air, "Puddin' sent me fireworks!"

"Fireworks?" Natasha echoed quietly, glancing at the sky. Overhead she could see a pale, bluish-white glow, but ti didn't explode like the dynamite was expected to do. She couldn't even hear the familiar whistle as it was rocketed upwards. No, this light seemed to be falling down, picking up speed and blurring into a blinding ball so bright, Natasha had to look away before they heard the crash, the sound of a body cracking bones against the cement.

"And he hits a home-run!" Tony Stark's familiar jovial cry rang across the barren lawn of the asylum, his armor suit clinking and clanking as he rocketed himself down to the ground. The woman was lying a few feet away, no doubt out cold, as a piece of her baseball bat hung limply from her fingers. Her pigtails had started to come undone, and her tattered shirt was even more so as she skidded across the cement.

"Stark! We need her alive!" Natasha hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. Flipping the mask of his helmet up, Tony flashed her his two rows of pearly whites, a beacon of light in the dark.

"She's not dead, don't worry," he quipped as Clint went to pick her up from the ground. Her head lolled backwards, revealing a solid-gold choker with the word "Puddin'" engraved on it, the blocky letters raised from the surface for a better look. Her ears were covered with gold hoops and diamond studs, and she wore a set of golden bangles on her wrists.

"Seems like this 'Puddin'' guy is loaded," Clint commented as he handed over the girl to Natasha, who held her bridal style across the lawn, careful to avoid the bodies rotting in every direction. The smell was getting really bad, the agent's head swimming by the time they made it to the awaiting helicopter.

A bright yellow light lit up the space inside the copter, and the three of them climbed into the waiting benches up against the curved wall. A doorframe separated them from the cockpit, from which Steve was flying the plane, dressed entirely in his Captain America uniform.

"Thought you were at dinner with The Wall, hon," Natasha teased.

"Date didn't go as planned, unfortunately," Steve said, flicking a switch and joining them in the back. Tony was busy trying to get most f his suit off, it had to be at least one hundred degrees when wearing something made entirely of metal. The plane cruised smoothly on autopilot, Natasha helping Clint buckle the unconscious woman into one of the seats reserved for an emergency. A parachute hung overhead, and Natasha grinned as she shoved it back in the compartment.

Metal creaked under his weight as Steve went to sit across from Natasha, eyeing the woman warily. Natasha still wasn't sure why exactly this person was so goddamned important. Or better yet- how she was able to kill all those people by herself while succeeding in getting her teammates to do the same or disappear. She watched as he twiddled his thumbs. It was a nervous habit of his, something Natasha learned he had picked up from Bucky during the war, when they were nervous about going out in the trenches or doing patrol on their grounds.

Since Bucky had disappeared, Steve had distanced himself from doing anything other than training the new recruits- James Rhodes, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff and Tony's little android, The Vision. Things were going along just fine; everything went a bit downhill once Fury asked him to go see someone- Amanda Waller, better known as 'The Wall' to talk about some sort of rescue mission.

None of them knew it involved rescuing a supervillain, notorious for aiding in murders and theft, as well as the attempted murder of a certain orphaned billionaire (Bruce Wayne, in Natasha's opinion, was always a sell-out, and no amount of black clothes or fancy gadgets could change that.)

But now he was sitting in this helicopter, staring down the woman Amanda Waller wanted protected at all costs- so much so, she would team up with Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. in order to keep her safe. From what Natasha had learned of the woman, she was never a team player to begin with.

"Mrs. Waller told me her name is Dr. Quinzel," Steve broke the awkward silence, "I read in her file on the way here that she was once a psychiatrist."

Natasha pursed her lips, glancing at the woman- Dr. Quinzel. There was _no way_ that this woman, the one she and Clint had found screaming out absolute nonsense amongst the bodies of her fellow patients at an _insane asylum_ , was once a psychiatrist.

"Yeah, and I'm the Pope," Tony cracked, swirling a straw in a can of soda, the red metal can slick with condensation.

"No, seriously," Steve said bluntly, "The Wall said she was the Joker's psychiatrist before she got into all the stealing and murder."

Well, that explained it. Now that she was out, she seemed harmless, just a young woman who dressed erratically, sleeping in the car on the way to a convention or concert.

"Did Fury say anything else about this mission?" Natasha asked, "Like where we're supposed to send her?" Steve shook his head. Natasha's stomach dropped as the plane began its descent onto a landing pad, the blades whirring incessantly as they came to a stop.

"Let's find out," Tony retorted, helping Natasha unbuckle their priority from her seat, carrying her carefully inside Avengers headquarters.


	3. Chapter 3

Opening her eyes, Harley looked around, allowing the bright white light to invade her vision. She could see a quaint coffee table in front of her, and the fabric of the couch was scratchy against her bare legs. Wiggling her toes, she allowed the cool air from the air conditioner to run over her bare feet-

Wait.

She looked down. Aside from her stockings, her feet were bare.

Her feet were bare.

"Huh…?" she whimpered, leaping off the couch in such a hurry that she almost knocked over the coffee table. If she had, it didn't matter. She had to find those shoes. They were her favorite shoes- a gift, in fact.

And he'd be so angry if he found out she lost them.

Dust tickled her nose as she peered under the couch. When she didn't see them there, she practically ripped apart the cushions, throwing the pillows this way and that.

Nothing.

Her reflection was dark in the glass of teh flatscreen television hanging on the wall, her feet thumping softly on the beige carpeting as she approached an elevated level, jumping over the two small steps to get to the bar.

She needed those shoes!

But as she threw open the cabinets to rummage amongst the bottles of whiskey and scotch, there was the realization that they had most likely been stolen from her.

Shit.

He was going to have a fit for sure. He was going to yell at her, his pale face turning beet red. He was grab her pigtails and pull until she screamed so much she cried. He was going to call her every insult in the book and worse. He was going grab at her clothes, push her down and-

"Good morning, Dr. Quinn."

Harley froze. No one had called her that for a while. Even she forgot about it, her working profession. She stayed like that, lowering her arms from the topmost cabinet, letting the door swing idly.

"Dr. Quinn?" the woman repeated.

"My shoes," was all she said.

Apparently, the woman didn't hear her, saying, "Dr. Quinn, I'm Pepper Potts. Tony told us you'd be sta-"

"My. Shoes."

The words were forced, her teeth clenched as she shook her hands. Slowly, Harley took the two steps to the lower level, twitching at the soft bites of carpet on the balls of her feet. The woman had red hair pulled back into a low ponytail, wearing a black dress suit. Harley glanced down at her feet, only a second long glance, but it wasn't fair.

The woman was wearing a pair of black kitten heels. Harley sneered at her. They were far too plain for her taste. Rather ugly, too.

Her Puddin' was going to have a fit, a real _rager_.

"Your what?"

"Shoes! My shoes!" Harley felt her voice rising, but she couldn't help it. She felt herself panicking, her hands trembling violently. Her vision began to blur, the woman in front of her turning into a slight haze. What had she called herself again? Petunia? Penelope? It didn't matter. Harley needed those _damn shoes_. Harley jumped at the window, a long wall lengh piece of glass and pressed her face up against it. The glass was cold against her cheeks, and she tapped her nails in time with the clock.

 _Click…. click…. click…._

Oh, why couldn't she find them?! They couldn't have sprung up feet of their own and just left!

"Dr. Quinn, is everything alright?" the woman- she was going to call her Petunia for now- asked, raising an eyebrow at her, "We have lunch waiting downstairs for you, if you like."

It didn't occur to Harley that the sun was rather bright at the moment. If it was lunch time now… Harley shook her head. There was no way she would have slept that long. Her Puddin' didn't like when she slacked off, he would said so by now.

But she wasn't with her Puddin' at the moment. She was trying to find her shoes.

 _Right_ , she thought, _shoes. Get back into, Harley!_

"Not until i find my stinkin' shoes, Princess!" Harley snapped at her, and the woman glowered.

"Your shoes are in a cubby by the door, Dr. Qui-"

" _Don't call me that!_ " Harley screeched, sending a fist into the glass. Crystalline pieces showered the carpet, and she could feel a familiar warmth dripping over her knuckles, into her palm and down her fingers. Harley ignored the blood, letting it dot the floor as she approached the woman, wagging a venomously red digit, "Don't _ever_ call me that."

Her Puddin' didn't even call her that anymore. Well, only when she was in trouble. It was right up there with calling her by little pet-names.

The woman (whose name Harley didn't even want to remember at this point) looked appalled, spluttering out some excuse about ehr hand. Yes, it was bleeding, but ti wasn't important. What was important were her shoes, which she needed before he found out. Before he punished her so bad-

Harley glanced down at her hand. She often let her Puddin' draw blood, but it made him happy. She didn't mind it, as long as she saw him smiling his crazy old smile. Chest deflating, she smiled as she watched the rubies cling to her nails a second before falling to the floor at her feet. He said he liked that color on her, that she looked best when spilling it out at his whimsy.

"...Ms. Quinn?" the woman's voice was tiny, as she thankfully corrected herself, "Would you like to get that bandaged up and then we can get you something to eat?"

Harley looked at her. How long had she been here? The ex-con couldn't remember, although she knew she had been yelling at her.

Now she couldn't remember why.

"Alright, Princess," Harley agreed, her eyes twinkling with uncertainty, glazed over slightly, "let's go get some lunch, me 'n you."

Harley guessed her shoes would have to wait. Hopefully her Puddin' didn't find out about them too soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha was training with Wanda and the Vision when Pepper had ushered their new friend downstairs- Harley Quinn. She couldn't see her that much, as she was barely managing to dodge and evade the attacks from her teammates left and right. Sweat lightly sheened on her skin, giving her a somewhat healthy glow as she moved. She could see Steve with Sam and Rhodey, casually reclining at a table and sharing a basket of curly fries. The smell teased her all the way in the training box, and soon she found herself on teh floor, phantom fingers caressing her cheek.

Wow. Wanda had caught her off guard. That usually never happened.

"Sorry, Natasha," the witch apologized meekly, trembling hands reaching down. Natasha took hers gratefully, pulling herself to her feet. Shaking her head, she took a minute to regain her breath. Her lungs felt like they were on fire.

When was the last time that happened during practice?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Wanda was getting better at her aim. The Vision? He still had a nasty habit of floating around, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do.

"It's alright, Wanda," Natasha huffed, wiping her brow the back of her hand, "You did good." Wanda's eyes lit up like fireworks; Natasha was a tough trainer. If things were bad, she would say so, and immediately pin you to the mat if you struggled to correct your errors. If it was good? You managed to avoid a pummeling. The Vision floated behind them by a good few feet, Wanda casting childish grins at the android over her shoulder every other step. Natasha shook her head, smirking.

Her teammates could be such _children_ sometimes.

"Hey, how's the training going?" Pepper called as Natasha plopped herself down in a chair, across from their new guest. Harley was looking around curiously, her blue eyes a haze of wonder. Wait, blue? Natasha thought, last I saw her they were brown. She shrugged as she watched Harley, her gaze falling on the tray of curly fries the boys were sharing. It was probably a trick of the light; after all, it was dark and she was in the middle of some sort of episode.

"Wanda's getting pretty good at interpretive dance, I see," Sam cracked, making the mutant blush profusely, her gaze flitting discreetly to the Vision, who simply smiled along with them.

"But seriously, you are getting good," Natasha pointed a fry at her, chomping obnoxiously as she added, "I just might have to step up my game with you."

"Bu Agent Romanoff, we are not playing a game," The Vision pointed out, oblivious, "You said specifically that we were training for better chances at survival during battle-"

"It's an expression," Wanda explained quietly. Natasha noticed the Vision had stopped floating, now contemplating the best way to claim the empty chair next to Wanda as his. After listening to the legs scrape against the floor, he finally settled himself, Wanda casting her gaze on teh fries, leaving it there.

"Aww, you guys are cute!" Harley piped up, "Jus' like ol' Batsy 'n Selena, let me tell yah!"

"And you are….?" Rhodey asked, snatching a fry from the plate.

"Harley Quinn, darlin', pleased to meet yah!" Harley practically yelled, her voice booming as she leaned over the table and shoved her hand at him. Hesitantly, Rhodey shook her hand once, and firmly, before she pulled away abruptly, crossing her arms as if she had been burned and was trying to smother the heat.

"James Rhodes," he politely returned, "But they call me Rhodey."

"And I'm Sam Wilson-" Sam was about to follow suit until Tony cleared his throat. Steve sat silently, eyeing Harley with what Natasha could only discern as worry. Worry and caution.

"And, Miss Quinn," Tony put on an air, making the woman giggle at his terribly fake British accent, "are you a new recruit for the Avengers?"

"She's our mission."

Everyone was surprised to find Steve having echoed those words. They all knew what those words meant to Steve- one of the few things Bucky had uttered when they found him, half brain-washed and absolutely delirious.

Natasha never thought such words would leave the Captain's mouth.

It seemed apparent that Steve was correct, as Harley's bright demeanor diminished slightly, her smile sagging at the corners of her lips. Drumming her nails on the table, Harley let her eyes dart between the team, wait for a reaction.

It was then that the trained assassin noticed the dried crusty red of her hand.

"Harley, what happened?" she demanded bluntly, and Harley blew a raspberry, rolling her eyes.

"It ain't nothing, don't worry your pretty little head," she attempted to reassure her, but Natasha reached over and grabbed her fingers, inspecting each digit closely. Thankfully none were broken, but she noticed multiple lacerations and cuts across her knuckles. Blood had dried, looking black against her doll-like complexion.

"Did you punch something?" Natasha asked.

"Maybe I did," Harley humphed defiantly, "Why does it matter?"

"Because our job is to protect you at all costs," Steve interjected, having signaled Rhodey to get his medical kit.

"Uh-huh," Harley deadpanned, "Well, I'm not gonna hurt myself on purpose-"

"You already did so unintentionally, so who knows," Steve shook his head, "We can't take that chance. Pepper sighed, smoothing the folds of her skirt before saying, "I tried to get her to bandage it, i really did-"

"Well, it wouldn't have happened if you just gave me my shoes like I asked-"

"Asked? Really? I specifically remember you growling like an animal and having a temper-tantrum-"

"Well whaddya expect me to do after I wake up in some stranger's living room, huh?!" Harley cried, gnashing her teeth at Pepper. Natasha pursed her lips. Of course none of her teammates would bother to mention where they were. Then again, Tony had knocked her out back at the asylum, so it wasn't really any of their faults. It was simply Harley being unaware of her surroundings. As she watched Rhodey and Sam begin to take care of Harley's injury, she let ehr mind wander- what was it about this woman that was so important?

The Joker never really stepped foot in New York City, Natasha knew. Bad guys like that had a tendency to stay in Gotham, to have fun tormenting (Jesus Christ, she hated even thinking about that sorry excuse for a superhero) Bruce Wayne, although he didn't keep it a secret that he was Batman. In a way, it was almost like Tony, how he let the world know he was Iron Man simply because he could.

But Harley Quinn? She was an easy person to spot, although it seemed right now that she tried hard enough to stay out of the limelight. Sure, she looked and acted pretty outlandish, but Natasha was sure it was all a facade, a rich bravado she put on to cover up something.

What exactly, however, would that be?

Wanda and Vision had left, most likely to get back to training, as he heard the slight buzzing of Wanda's magical energy shooting every which way. A perfect knot finished off Harley's bandage, and Rhodey let his kit sit on the table as he leaned back in his chair. Harley was staring, boggled, at the medical equipment, the cover left flipped open to reveal tiny scissors, band-aids and dental floss, among other things.

"Why do you have dental floss in there?" Harley asked, lowering her voice.

"For stitches," Sam said, "if we don't have twine on us."

"Oh."

It was then that Harley's stomach growled, announcing its exclusion. The woman smiled, tried to pass it off, but Steve shoved the plate of fries across the table, staring her down with a stone-cold mask. Natasha noticed the little hitch in Harley's breath, how she almost mouthed something when their eyes met, but she took the food anyway, silently chowing down.

Weird.

Well, not really. If you were with the Joker…. he was a pretty messed up guy. Anything was bound to happen with him.

Still, Natasha wasn't fond of the silent, stoic look for Steve. She preferred him smiling, cracking jokes about being an old man, and, on occasion, giving orders when in training or in battle. Not this angry son of a bitch who looked like he would bite a (not really) innocent woman's head off for being the tiniest bit hungry.

"So, how about we go back to training?" Tony broke the awkward silence, Natasha releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. It was a good idea, and who knew how much damage the inexperienced members of the group were doing to the training room right now?

Pepper decided to take her leave, rubbing Harley's arm before she let her heels click loudly on the tiled floor. Harley looked positively revolted at Pepper's kind gesture, slumping her shoulders as she tried to fold in on herself. Her pigtails seemed less bouncy, hanging slightly limp from her head. Her mouth was clamped shut and she seemed to be trying in vain to hold back tears.

Sam noticed too, thankfully, for he asked softly, "Harley? Is something wrong?"

It was as if she was seeing them for the first time- wait, scratch that, she technically was. But her eyes seemed empty, a dark smile playing on her scarlet lips. Cocking her head, she leaned back in her chair, resting her neck over the top she her head hung backwards, her pigtails twin ropes hanging from the ceiling of a high school gym. Chest rising slowly, she began to chuckle.

It was ominous laugh, one that made you think "This is a person who needs serious help." And she was. It echoed throughout the recreation room, and even the others had stopped in their tracks. A stray blast from Wadna collided with one from Vision, exploding in a firework of red and yellow, spark suspended in the air before snapping out of existence. Her voice grew, louder and louder until it was a knife, cutting through Natasha's bones as if she were bread. The bang of a door signaled Agent Phil Coulson and Maria Hill burst in, taking Harley by the arms and wrenching them behind her back as she cackled, babbling incoherent nonsense as they lead her out of the room.

No one seemed up for training anymore once the door had closed behind them with an audible click of the lock.


End file.
